


The One With The Happy Bottoms

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Soho forever, Unsatisfied lovers never
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 06:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Why should anyone really compromise, when mutual satisfaction is just a breath away?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 177
Collections: Our Own Side





	The One With The Happy Bottoms

The problem with pleasure, Aziraphale has often found, is that there’s so many ways to find it. Take food, for instance. On his most indecisive of days, he spends three times as long deciding where he wants to go, as actually being there. And no amount of coin flipping or ‘suggestions’ work. He just - how do you decide between sushi, a carvery, a cream tea, a--

Yes, well.

The same goes for in the bedroom. 

To begin with, they’d both been so eager that it had just been a case of which body part was nearest which. Hands and lips and thighs and chests and buttocks and anything went (and frequently did multiple times in a row). 

It’s all perfectly lovely. It is. 

But sometimes it becomes a little… charged? 

Like. Crowley has a very clear oral fixation, which Aziraphale adores. The demon isn’t much for putting food in his mouth, but he has no such hesitation about swallowing a cock. Or eating an ass. And Aziraphale very, very much enjoys that. Like… more so than he can put into words. He loves feeling the wet, almost-dangerous slip of tongue and teeth. Loves the way it gives him such an intimate view of his lover’s face, all long lashes and hollowed cheeks and unholy gulping over his dick. 

Not that he minds returning the favour. Crowley’s skin tastes… not in the food way, of course! It tastes… gloriously sinful and decadent and he can’t get enough. He loves the way it makes them feel closer, and he loves to hear the moans and feel the hands in his hair, his wings, as he treats the banquet in front of him with the respect it deserves. Maybe, if he’s honest, he prefers to be on the receiving end ever so slightly more… but then if they both try at the same time, it’s a flustered mess of sticky fluids and shaking furniture and the only bad part about it is that one of them has to move after, if they’re going to cuddle comfortably.

Yes. Good.

Hands are good, too. Hands leave mouths free to kiss, nibble, purr, talk. To breathe over skin. To gasp. Hands are intimate in their own way, and he enjoys when they show one another what they want, using their touches to request and guide the ones they receive. 

Very, very good.

All of it is. It’s nice when there’s a cock grinding against thigh. When it’s jerked to completion so he can see the release from start to end. When it’s both of them caught in one palm. When it’s tugging. Yanking. Biting. Pulling.

But there’s… well.

Aziraphale enjoys being inside of Crowley a damn (hah) lot. He loves the way the demon will arch, buck, grind. How his spine turns to lightning in summer skies: dancing and fiercely electric. How his body tugs him deeper. He loves to push the demon’s knees to his ears, or feel them wrapped around his waist, or hold his head down as he mounts him and buggers him into whatever casualty of fortune has received their latest lovesport. He loves to watch Crowley bounce himself on his lap, hair matted and plastered and going off in all directions. (He wishes, though, that sometimes it was longer. Maybe just for a little while, to see it whip about, or to tug his head where he wants it.) Loves to watch the way his chest concaves and his nipples scream for attention. Oh, oh yes.

But he _also_ likes the reverse. 

Likes feeling firm and wiry hands on his plump waist. Being bent in half, with the pain of contortion turned to bliss as he’s entered and filled. Stuffed and rammed and used and abused and adored. Teeth on his neck and shaking in his thighs and calves. The final barrier between them - well - a symbol of it - fucked into nothing as they both lose themselves in one another. The aching, yearning emptiness made physical and real, and then filled with his lover’s presence, healing millennia of loneliness.

They don’t need to do this. They don’t even have to have the drive. But it seemed silly not to try, at least. They saw humans doing it enough, being obsessed by the concept, and - well - how can you understand them if you don’t try to experience things at least a little like they do?

It’s… pleasure. Nothing more, and everything more. Baring bodies that grew into shame, touching places held away and apart from others. Making ridiculous faces and twisting into precarious positions and sweating and slobbering and kissing and being… free.

So how does he choose?

Yes, okay, so he could do both. He could bugger himself blind on his demon’s dick, then shove his hellish release into him the other side and return the favour. Or he could wait until the next day, and swap it about then. Or… they have eternity! So it really isn’t an issue.

(Maybe just a little bit. But not one to get upset about. Crowley will normally give in if he really has a preference one day. And whatever they do is still _fun_...)

(And it isn’t as if he begrudges him when the demon wants to be taken advantage of.)

(Unless he wants the same thing, that day, too…)

He is absolutely not at _all_ embarrassed when he walks into the ‘adult’ shop a few streets down. And blinks at things that look painful and wonders how you use them. (Next time, he tells himself. They do things because they are Nice, humans. So these things must also be Nice. And so he should have a look for some literature to explain how to use them. But not today.)

When he finds something that will do what he was wordlessly hoping he’d find, though… ah yes! That’s it! That’s the thing that will solve this particular predicament. 

It’s purple. And long. And _thick_. Maybe a little too thick, and he worries if maybe Crowley will find it insulting to imply they could do with--

Nonsense. His ego isn’t fragile enough to be affected by latex. And if it is, he will kiss it better.

Purple. Long. Thick. Firm, but wobbly. Flexible where it needs to be, rigid where it doesn’t.

He finds some way to pay for it, and hurries back home.

***

“...what?”

“I said: I went to the shops and I--”

“I heard the words. But I’m not sure they mean what I-- you-- huh?”

Aziraphale lifts the double-ended toy. “It would allow for… further… experimentation. And free up our hands. And other parts.”

Crowley’s eyes are solid yellow, barely the slightest of pupil left. And then they _dilate_. “Uhgn. Yes?”

“Jolly good,” he replies, cheerily. “Now we don’t have to fight for who is uppermost.”

“...it’s ‘top’, angel. Top.”

“Quite. It does look a little less satisfying than the real thing, but I will be able to stroke that, while we both…”

Crowley can strip surprisingly fast when he wants to. He also looks like he might just have discovered his prostate again, without even being touched. 

Aziraphale smiles. Oh yes. He will definitely visit the shop again. He can already tell tonight is going to be a good one, and neither of them has to compromise. 

But… what _do_ you do with those strange bird-cage like things? Truly? Maybe he’ll just buy some and see if Crowley already knows.


End file.
